13. Beau #3
“Anything else? You know you don’t have to keep it bottled up.”
At first, I don’t think she’s going to say anything. So I’m shocked when she not only says it, but is more vulnerable than I ever thought she’d be.
“I had no clue. I always thought I’d know,” she begins. “When he asked me to dinner that night, nothing seemed off. Nothing ever seemed off. I mean, not big things. Except I never spent the night at his house. That was a big thing, I guess.”
“Maybe,” I try to say gently. “But men will do what they need to do if they want to be in that situation.”
“You’re right,” she says, pointing her nearly empty beer bottle toward me.
“Want to know how we got caught? Mother fucker forgot to turn his location off. Apparently his wife—who I’m sure is a lovely woman and I feel bad that I fucked her husband—got suspicious and checked once when he spent the night.
He never realized it. She fucking busted him and gave him an ultimatum. ”
I shake my head, because…what an absolute fucking moron. And a pathetic excuse of a man.
“He broke up with me at Chili’s,” Shelby says, nearly in tears. “Chili’s, Beau! I fucking loved a Triple Dipper, and now I can’t have it and I was the other woman and the only man who’s ever said he loved me was a fucking cheater with a pencil dick!”
Shelby dramatically drops her head to the table, and I’m not sure if she’s actually crying, but I do know the motion has her wobbling on her barstool. I don’t know how I react as quickly as I do, but I’m there in a second, catching her before she fully falls off.
“There you go again.” Her words are now fully slurred, and maybe they were before, but I’m definitely hearing it now. “Being the hero. Beau Devereauuux, always the herooooo. Oh! That rhymed!”
I laugh as I help Shelby to her feet. Only now I realize I’m just as drunk as she is, because with her in my arms, we almost both take a tumble into the table. I don’t think Frank would like that too much.
“You’re a poet, Belle.”
“Damn straight!” she says, making no movement to step out of my arms.
In fact, this is how I know we’re both drunk. I’m holding Shelby, my arms wrapped around her waist, as hers are lazily draped over my shoulders. We’re both a little wobbly, but somehow we’re counterbalancing our weight. And all I want to do is kiss her.
Fuck, we are drunk.
“Want to hear something funny?” I ask, the two of us lazily swaying back and forth.
“What’s that?”
“Courtney thinks I love you.”
It takes a second for my words to register before Shelby barks out a laugh so loud the entire bar turns to look at us. Maybe. I’m not sure if the bar is packed or if I’m just seeing double of everything.
“You? Love me? Ha! That’s fucking hilarious!”
“Right! I didn’t know I loved you.”
“Because you don’t. You don’t love me. You haaaate me!”
“Exactly. And you hate me.”
Interesting words we’re both saying in comparison to how we’re standing, but whatever.
“Yes I do,” Shelby says, tapping my nose as she squints to make sure she doesn’t accidentally poke my eye out. “Why does this feel like kindergarten talk?”
“Right? Like did Courtney hear at recess that I loved you? Was I chasing you around the playground?”
“You actually did for real,” she says. “And then I made you trip into the rocks.”
“I skinned my knee so bad,” I say with a smile, remembering that day in third grade. “I bet the next words out of her mouth would be ‘if you love her so much, why don’t you marry her?’”
“Right? Like a dare.”
“Or a double-dog dare.”
We share a smile, knowing each other well enough to know that neither of us, in our entire lives, have been able to turn down a dare.
It’s how I ended up in a coordinated neon yellow outfit for a tournament when I was fifteen.
And how she one time had to play an entire round with only her seven iron.
“I’ve got a dare for you, Shelby Lynn,” I say, pulling her closer.
“What’s that, Big Boy?”
I lean down, our foreheads touching. “I dare you to kiss me.”
I hold my breath as a fire lights in Shelby’s eyes, and it’s then that I know she’s going to do it. The woman can’t turn down a dare, but I really thought she might. And until her lips hit mine, my drunk brain still thinks she’ll pull back at the last second.
She doesn’t. She does the opposite. Shelby kisses me with every fiber of her being.
Her hands cup my face, taking control of the kiss.
But I don’t care. She can take control. She can take my soul.
Because the feeling of Shelby’s lips against mine, her tongue sweeping my mouth, is a feeling I’m never going to forget.
Hopefully. I mean, I am completely hammered. I might not remember this kiss tomorrow. Or this night. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ll always know what Shelby’s lips taste like.
Cinnamon. Sugar. Sin.
I’m stunned as she pulls away, wondering what just happened and how we got here. It’s why I’m not ready for the words Shelby says next.
“My turn,” she whispers in my ear.
“What’s that?”
“Marry me. I double-dog dare you.”